“You have willfully abused your position of authority…”
“I hear the prosecutor’s office agreed to waive the lesser charges – dependent on a conviction for the major offences.”
“… turned your back on your allegiance to the state…”
“It’ll depend on whether the sentences run consecutively or concurrently,” said Burns.
“Concurrently, I reckon,” said Mullins. “I’ll go for fifty years – that’s the mandatory sentence for treason against the state.”
“…betrayed your uniform, your rank and your peers...”
“Can’t see it, myself. This is a show trial with all the trimmings… Thirty years each for the murder charges, say forty for the treason and fifteen each for the sabotage, kidnapping and theft. What’s that come to? A hundred seventy five?”
“…brought shame on an institution whose traditions you were bound by oath to respect and uphold...”
“Winner buys lunch?”
“… and damaged the hard earned public trust.”
“You’re on.”
“Taking all these factors into consideration I have no option but to hand down the maximum sentence permitted by law...”
“I do believe…”
“Daniel Rodham Jacks, you are hereby sentenced to be incarcerated in a maximum security correctional facility for a total of two hundred and five years, with no possibility of parole. Bailiff, take the prisoner down. This court is adjourned.”
“…the wager is mine,” said Burns as the judge rapped his gavel on the desk.
“Two hundred and five years?” said Mullins as he watched Jacks amble over to the stairs leading down the cells below the courtroom. Jacks gave the gallery a cheery wave as he did so. “That must be a record for a first time offender.”
“I should say so. You know, you have to hand it to the man… he may be the devil incarnate but he does have style,” said Burns, as Jacks sauntered down the stairs as if beginning a long vacation on an island paradise.
“A few months on the inside will change that.”
“Perhaps… perhaps not. I imagine time will tell. Either way, two hundred and five years… I think we can safely call that a result.”
“So, what’s next on the agenda?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said Burns. “You might be pleased to know that we’re heading back to Atlas.”
“Atlas? But we’ve only just got back.”
“Apparently the people in Atlas Central were so pleased with our previous efforts that they asked for us again. Nice to be wanted, I suppose.”
“How long for?”
“As long as it takes, I suppose. I hope Mrs. Mullins won’t mind.”
“Shouldn’t think so. I think she quite enjoys the break when I’m away on duty. Says it’s like being on vacation but without all the hassles. Not exactly sure what to deduce from that, but still.”
“And you being a detective, as well.”
“Ah well, when I go home I try to leave my detective’s hat at the door, so to speak. Easier for everyone that way. Anyway, what’s the case?”
“I’ll explain over lunch which, it appears, you are buying. Lead the way, Sergeant.”
* * *
Orbital One Space Station, Atlas System.
“Hey, we’re on the news again!” said Duke Cooper, pointing at the TV in the corner of the crew room.
“Turn the sound up then,” said Archie Andrews who, along with the rest of the operations crew turned around to face the screen – all except Chuck Poulson, who closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head and then gave a little grunt.
‘Commodore Daniel Jacks, previously found guilty of a string of offences including homicide, kidnapping and sabotage, was today sentenced to a total of two hundred and five years imprisonment by Judge Haveloy-Basham as the trial at the San Francisco law courts reached its conclusion. Among Jacks’ victims were fifty nine year old Bernard Stevens, an operations officer aboard the space station Orbital One, and forty one year old Kai Saxman, an alleged Capo in the Delph crime syndicate. A career soldier, Commodore Jacks embarked on his murder spree during the attempted theft of a prototype computer core known as Hector, developed by the Comtec Corporation and installed on board Orbital One.
‘In an audacious plot, Jacks hijacked the core as it was about to be transferred to Phoenix Station to replace yet another Comtec core which Jacks had himself sabotaged. The plan might well have succeeded were it not for the intervention of the crew of O1, and in particular Sub-Captain Charles Poulson and Cadet Penelope Parker, who tracked Commodore Jacks across the system before finally apprehending him after a deadly shoot out.
‘Along with Lieutenant Dolores Primrose, who aided in the final capture of Commodore Jacks, both Sub-Captain Poulson and Cadet Parker were awarded the Meritorious Service Medal for their part in the incident.’
“Way to go Chuck!” said Baz Jordan.
“Our hero!” said Guns Graham.
“Deadly shoot out?” said Mike Pederson, who was new to Orbital One.
“Well, it certainly would have been deadly if the power cell in his gun hadn’t run out just as he tried to shoot me,” said Chuck. “As it was, all that came out was a bright orange spark – landed right on the nose mind you – left a nasty mark. After that he was in the process of beating me half to death when Dolores walked in and shot him.”
“That’s Lieutenant Primrose,” said Ollie Oliver. “Chuck’s savior and, if rumors are to believed, soon to be Chuck’s lawful wedded wife.”
“She shot Commodore Jacks?”
“Yeah, four times… in the chest.”
“And he survived?”
“Yeah, the pistol was set to stun – not that she knew that at the time, of course,” said Chuck. “Bit of a long story…”
“Where is she now?”
“Dolores?” said Duke. “Logistics officer on a fleet transport, which is why Chuck tends to be a bit grumpy these days.”
“Well, wouldn’t you be? They gave her a choice of postings as a reward for nailing Jacks, and then transferred her out of it six weeks later. They’ll be asking for the medal back next.”
“Funny, that,” said Baz. “How come she got transferred out so quickly?”
“Official line is that she didn’t have enough points,” said Chuck.
“Points?” said Ollie.
“She opted for Phoenix Station, and Phoenix being Phoenix, the marvel of the modern world–”
“Wasn’t a marvel when I was there,” said Mike Pederson.
“True, but that was just down to Jacks. Anyway, Phoenix is considered a choice assignment, and apparently you need a certain number of points to get in.”
“So how do you get the points?”
“How the hell would I know?” said Chuck.
“Knowing the military,” said Archie, “having a pair of nice, shiny shoes, a straight parting and the ability to suck up to superior officers would probably go a long way.”
“Might help, but according to Dolores, it was less to do with points and more to do with a couple of officers having a contest to see who could pee highest up the wall.”
“Meaning?”
“Dolores was offered a choice of postings by Admiral Giles. She chose Phoenix so Giles told the CO of Phoenix’s military detachment to find a berth for her. Phoenix’s CO wanted his own man in the job and lodged a protest with Admiral Giles’ staff. Of course, it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference were it not for the fact that Giles retired shortly after, and just as soon as he was gone, Dolores got her marching orders. Which is why, if the military should ever again decide to activate my commission in the auxiliary services, I shall immediately retire and become… I don’t know… a second hand car salesman.”
“Know a lot about cars, do you Chuck?”
“Not really. Just how difficult can it be? I mean, it’s the same everywhere you go. Whatever piece of junk they roll out you get the same old patter – ‘lo
w mileage… well maintained… one careful owner… full service history’…”
“Ah well, just like O1, then.” said Ollie. At least that raised a smile.
* * *
The Cascades Club, Atlas Central
Burns, Mullins and the crew of O1 weren’t the only people with a vested interest in the fate of Commodore Jacks. Augustus St.Clair watched the news report from his headquarters in the penthouse above the Cascades Club. He switched off his view screen and pressed a button on his desk. “Find Mr. Hobbs and tell him I need to speak with him.”
Within minutes Hobbs was seated across the desk. Not large in stature, Jack Hobbs had risen to his position of Capo by virtue of brain rather than brawn. An educated man, he was expert in the fields of law and commerce and equally skilled in the arts of extortion and blackmail. Shrewd and calculating, it was said that he didn’t have two morals to rub together.
“I take it you’ve heard the news about Jacks?” said St.Clair.
“Two hundred and five years…”
“However long the sentence, the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. Saxman wasn’t just an employee – he was one of my personal retainers. Leaving Jacks to rot in jail for the rest of his life sends out the wrong message. I would prefer a more immediate solution. Immediate and permanent.”
“I’ll look into the matter,” said Hobbs.
“Make it a priority,” said St.Clair. “For once, this isn’t business… it’s personal.”
* * *
Harland Shipyards, Atlas.
Making sure that there were no prying eyes, Jimmy Franks pushed the circuit board and three lengths of titanium alloy tubing inside his work jacket. None of the items were particularly bulky; all slid smoothly into the pockets that he had sat up all night stitching into the jacket lining. He had no idea what effect the latest of his ‘upgrades’ might have on the Skylark, a lightweight mail packet, and didn’t really want to know. He’d scrutinized all the parts the night before but they looked entirely genuine to his eyes. He hoped that they’d look the same to everyone else’s eyes too.
This was the seventh time that he’d installed an ‘upgrade’ for Hobbs. After another visit from Chumly and Sam, a package containing the parts and a set of detailed instructions had arrived the next day; Jimmy could only wonder who the supplier was. As usual, Sam had stuffed a great wad of banknotes in his pocket as he left. Jimmy still had the proceeds from most of his previous encounters stashed under a leg of lamb in his freezer. Truth was that he was too scared to spend it. Apart from the fact that the decent, upright citizen lurking within said that it was just plain wrong, if he suddenly started living beyond his means someone was going to notice. And that wouldn’t be gambling sensibly. So Jimmy contented himself by raising his limit at the Cascades to four hundred credits, followed by a visit to Madame Fifi’s Pink Salon just a few floors below. He also considered buying a bigger refrigerator.
As to the task at hand, changing the circuit board would be a five minute job and switching the lengths of tubing could be accomplished in half an hour. All simple enough, but he was faced with two additional problems. Problem number one was that he wasn’t assigned to the Skylark today. It wasn’t ideal but the shipyard was a busy place and could always find some excuse for being there. Problem number two was more difficult, for Jimmy Franks had been promoted and as such was put in charge of an apprentice fresh out of high school, a permanent shadow that followed him about all day like a lost puppy. Fortunately, one of the shipyard’s finest traditions would give Jimmy the perfect opportunity to lose his shadow for a while, and maybe even for the whole day.
“Morning, Mr. Franks,” said the apprentice as he entered the locker room.
“And good morning to you, Terrence,” said Jimmy. “Got all your gear?” Terrence nodded. “Right then, follow me. Here’s our work docket – we’re assigned to the Molly Jean, where I’ll be showing you how to align a set of bow thrusters. Need a bit of muscle power but not a difficult job if you go about it in the right way.”
Thirty minutes later they were groping around in a compartment between the Molly Jean’s inner and outer hulls. “Look here,” said Jimmy, pointing at a large, circular apparatus which filled most of the space. “This here is the port side thruster nozzle, held in place against the outer hull by a dozen tungsten bolts. So, what we have to do is loosen the bolts a touch, then tap the whole nozzle until it’s at exactly ninety degrees to the centerline. Then we crank up the bolts again. Got that?”
“Sure,” said Terrence. Jimmy fished a 25mm wrench out of his toolbox and began loosening off the bolts, one by one. He left the last few to Terrence, suppressing a smile as he struggled to undo the last of the bolts, his whole frame dangling from the end of the wrench before there was a loud squeak and the bolt finally moved.
“Great,” said Jimmy. “Now all we need to do is apply a little motive force.”
“What?”
“Bash it with a hammer. When this mark on the hull lines up this one on the nozzle, we’re done.” Jimmy gave the nozzle a few hearty blows with his hammer and peered at the alignment marks. “Blast, gone too far.” He made a show of struggling to reach the other side of the nozzle, grunting furiously as he did so. “No good,” he said. “I’ll never do it with this. Terrence?”
“Yes?”
“Get yourself over to the stores and fetch me a left-handed hammer.”
“A what?”
“A left-handed hammer. Just tell the guy in the stores – he’ll know what I mean. Off you go, now.”
“Yeah… right,” said Terrence, leaving the compartment. Once he was out of sight, Jimmy returned the hammer to the toolbox and picked out a 12mm spanner. He dropped the spanner in his pocket and headed off towards the Skylark. He’d have the job done and still have time to spare before Terrence got back.
For when Terrence presented himself at the shipyard stores and asked for a left-handed hammer, the foreman would first have a cup of tea and then report back that he’d loaned his last left-handed hammer to the chief machinist. He would, however, give the chief machinist a call and tell him to hand the hammer over to Terrence. Did Terrence know where the machine shop was? Good. Terrence would then search out the chief machinist who would apologize and say that the hammer was now in the possession of the plumber’s mate who was working over on Pier 7, but should have finished with the hammer by now if Terrence would be so good as to go and collect it. From there it was anyone’s guess; if the apprentice was gullible enough he’d spend the rest of the shift on a fool’s errand travelling from one end of the facility to the other in search of an imaginary implement.
Unfortunately for Jimmy, Terrence had a near zero gullibility rating, due in part to the fact that he had three elder brothers in whose footsteps he was following. Three elder brothers, each of whom had warned him of the famous Harland’s wild goose chase. Fred, the eldest, had been sent in search of a bucket of steam. Donald, half a dozen two inch holes, and Sean, to his everlasting embarrassment, a can of tartan paint.
Making his way in the general direction of the stores, Terrence considered his best course of action. He didn’t want to end up the butt of someone’s joke, but neither did he want to be accused of not entering into the spirit of things. He decided on a compromise. He marched straight up the counter in the stores and said in his politest voice, “I’ve been sent to get a left-handed hammer, a tool I’m confident doesn’t exist but I thought it prudent to check.”
“I see,” said the store-man, looking Terrence up and down with a measured eye. “It so happens I’ve run out of left-handed hammers in any case. Perhaps I could interest you in a tube of non-stick glue?”
“Don’t think so,” said Terrence.
“Brass magnet?”
Terrence shook his head.
“Good for you, lad. Now, if I were in your shoes, I’d pop over to the canteen for half an hour or so. Have a cup of coffee and a donut. If anyone asks you what you’re doing, tell them I sent you the
re for a long weight.”
Terrence thought that one over for a moment before nodding his head and heading off outside. He declined a visit to canteen, deciding instead to explore some of the shipyard. By chance his route took him along a gantry situated right above the Skylark. He was surprised to see Jimmy Franks exit a hatch by the tail of the vessel and duck behind a stack of packing cases. From his vantage point Terrence then saw Jimmy make his way to a scrap bin and look furtively around before dropping several lengths of piping inside. How odd, thought Terrence.
Just ten days later Terrence watched as the Skylark was towed back into dock after a fire had broken out in her engine room, apparently caused by a cluster of ruptured fuel lines. By an amazing coincidence a deep space salvage vessel had been lurking in the immediate vicinity. It promptly came to the rescue, taking off the beleaguered crew, dousing the flames and then offering a tow back to Harlands on very reasonable terms. Reasonable compared to the total loss of the vessel, that is.
A cluster of ruptured fuel lines, thought Terrence as he remembered Jimmy Franks exiting the Skylark. How very odd indeed.
* * *
The Cascades Club, Atlas Central
St.Clair listened in silence as Jack Hobbs made his daily report. There was little of note – except for the matter of a pair of freelance hoods trying to run a protection racket in Delph territory. You’d think they’d have more sense. You really would. The pair in question had enjoyed a very profitable few weeks but in a jealously guarded industry they hadn’t survived long enough to enjoy it. They might eventually be missed by someone, and in the fullness of time might even find their way onto a missing person’s list. Not that they’d ever be found, of course, but that was the price you paid for being stupid with intent.
“And the other matter?” said St.Clair.
“Jacks is being held in the detention block adjacent to the law courts. According to our information he will be transferred to a maximum security facility within the next fourteen days.”
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 3